


September 17

by PGT



Category: One Piece
Genre: Birthday Cake, Canonical Character Death, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Grief/Mourning, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22666477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Zoro asks Sanji to help him cook a cake. Sanji wonders who it's for.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	September 17

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, once again I'm trying to wrap up some of my wips! a lot of these were intended to be longer, including this one; i might add another chapter but at this point you know me I don't continue anything (lol, cries)  
> feel free to comment and read my other stuff, as always my askbox is open on tumblr @loyle-trash

Zoro stood sheepishly in the center of the galley, arms crossed over an apron-adorned chest. Sanji stood across from him at the opposite side of the kitchen island, presenting two sets of ingredients: bowls of eggs, milk, cream cheese, butter, and a number of white powders. 

“You asked for a cake, and based on the flavor you described I thought we’d do something in more of a Wano cuisine.”

“Alright.” Though he seemed generally embarrassed and out of place in the kitchen setting, Zoro had personally requested this. He had scheduled the meeting, inquired on the specific recipe, and in preparation had already washed his hands with little argument, something the generally unhygienic brute wasn’t known for doing.

The apron had been Sanji’s idea. He had taken to wearing it less and less often, but the Doskoi Panda emblem on bright pink fabric against Zoro’s chest was all the payment he’d needed for the small lesson.

Sanji pushed off of the counter he’d been postured against, stretching his arms and rearranging a few bowls.“Are you ready, Marimo?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good. These are yours,” Sanji passed one set of ingredients across the island, and Zoro did his best to mirror the cook’s setup.

“Is your oven pre-heating?”

“When did you tell me to turn it on?”

Sanji rolled his eyes, truly recognizing how novel something his life had always involved was to Zoro. “It was obvious we’d be baking. I assumed you knew at least that much.”

Zoro glared at the numbers on the oven to his left, expression growing more frustrated as he tried to construe what button or knob would turn the oven on.

“The button labeled “bake,” Marimo. We’re cooking it at 160°C, just press the down arrow until the display says that.”

Zoro did as he was told, jabbing his thumb into the button with a bit more pressure than Sanji would like. But he didn’t complain. 

When the oven had begun to preheat, Sanji flicked a burner on, setting a small pot above it, keeping an eye on Zoro to make sure he was following along. When the stovetops matched, he poured ingredients into the pot one at a time, listing them off. “Butter, cream cheese, and milk into the pot,” 

“Got it...” Zoro followed the direction fairly easily.

“Know what a whisk is?” Sanji waved the instrument as he waited for Zoro to find his own.

“I’m not that much of an idiot--”

“You sure about that?”

“Fuck off, Curly.”

Sanji laughed, and moved on rather than further tease the swordsman. He was enjoying a moment of superiority over Zoro, but honestly he didn’t want to tarnish a cooking experience with too much shitty banter. Zoro hadn’t been doing awful, and whatever had convinced him to come to Sanji of all people for assistance was clearly important. “We’re whisking everything together until it’s smooth, be careful not to spill or burn yourself.”

Zoro grunted in response, otherwise whisking silently. He was slow and the angle was off for an ideal stir, but nothing spilled.

“We’ll be whisking another mixture after this, but first we have to separate the eggs. Have you done that before?”

“Separated eggs? I’ve seen it done...”

Sanji noted the focus Zoro was putting into his whisking. He was chasing after a particular clump rather intently. “I’ll walk you through it, it’s harder than it sounds.”

When his mixture was the proper texture, Sanji slid it to a cold burner and switched off his flame. He rounded the table with his own bowl of eggs and two bowls to separate them into. He let Zoro mix the pot until he was content, and directed him to set it on a cool burner as well.

“You’ll want to crack the egg on a flat surface and open it, keeping the yolk in the shell and letting the white drip out-- you know what the yolk is right?”

“I know,” Zoro hissed, taking his own eggs. He studied them for a moment, and watched as Sanji demonstrated with his first egg.

“Some cooks recommend using your hands, but I’d rather not make a mess.”

Zoro picked up two more eggs.

Sanji glared at the three eggs cradled in the swordsman’s fingers and could practically hear the gears clicking in his head. 

“You can’t break three eggs at once asshole,” Sanji took Zoro’s wrist and pried the excess from his palm. “There’s no rush, just do them one at a time.”

“It’d be cool, though.” The swordsman had a soft smile, as if he still wanted to try it. He tested the egg against the counter, his gentlest tap sufficient to crack the thin shell.  
“And just open it with your fingers, careful not to drop or break the yolk-- that’s it.”

Sanji cracked his eggs patiently with little flourish. He enjoyed the intense focus on Zoro’s face as he balanced the yolk between each half shell, getting as much of the white as he could before dropping the yolks into a second bowl and setting the shells aside. He almost considered that Zoro might care to pick up baking as a hobby, if it hadn’t taken this long for him to ever ask about it. This particular instance seemed to have a reason. He considered the date, perhaps he was practicing for a birthday cake. November was a bit far however, and Zoro had been adamant about it being this week.

September… it wasn’t anyone on the ship. Zoro didn’t have a lover, as far as Sanji was aware. And he’d never talked about his parents-- not that Sanji was one to judge-- so who the hell was it for?

He guided Zoro through whisking the egg yolks smooth and incorporating their creamcheese mixture quietly, musing on the man’s intentions. If Zoro noticed the lack of chatter, he didn’t address it. They beat the egg whites and folded them in before pouring into cake pans and soon enough, the cakes were oven bound, timers were set, and the two had nothing more to do than sit at the galley table and wait. Sanji lit a cigarette, Zoro stared intently at a spot on the table, deep in thought.

Having half chewed through the stick between his lips before five minutes had passed, Sanji couldn’t contain himself anymore. “So what’s the occasion?”

Zoro’s eyes flickered up from where he stared, but his body didn’t move. The normally broad shouldered swordsman, bigger than life and ready to take on the world, seemed small at this moment. Sanji reflected at their ages; barely more than children, even with everything they’d seen. There was a vulnerability in his shipmate’s eyes he hadn’t seen since he’d been slashed at the Baratie.

When moments stretched, and the silence between them grew unbearable, Sanji raised his hands in cessation. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business--”

“No, I at least owe you that, for helping me,” Zoro muttered. 

Sanji stilled, and kept his lips tight against his cigarette lest he say something to change the marimo’s mind.

“She’s… someone from my childhood, where I grew up. I’ve mentioned her before.”

Zoro’s hands linked together, thumbs tightly clenched behind his first knuckles, centering himself. Sanji could feel him bouncing one leg beneath the table, hear the small tap of his heel against wood-slatted flooring. “She died before she could become something truly great, so I’m doing what she couldn’t, y’know. And, well, every year her dad would make her this cake, or something like it. We’d leave it on her grave every year too, eat with her...”

The swordsman bit his lip, and Sanji wondered if the wetness he saw in the man’s eyes was really there. 

“After I left home, I still made those cakes, or bought them, or something like it. Johnny and Yosaku were no cooks but they tried their best. But this year, there was you, and I thought she might like a cake that passed as edible again.”

Sanji couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to offer a hand, set it on Zoro’s shaking knee, or clenched fists, but there was no touch to fix what memories burdened the swordsman. Instead, he glanced at the oven before reclining on the bench. 

“If that’s the case, we’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t burn.”


End file.
